


Masterpiece

by Rainah (RainahFiclets)



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Unrequited Love, and sexy pictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:26:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainahFiclets/pseuds/Rainah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty has another gift for Joan. Apparently her last portrait was too subtle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> My first dip into a new fandom, because these two were just begging to be written about.

They didn't take away her art supplies. They couldn't really, with everything she knew that they couldn't afford to start relinquishing on bargains, but part of her was surprised to see everything still there. The glass bottles all lined up, the floor still stained with blood and paint.

 _Of course they're still there. I hold the keys to half of Scotland Yard's unsolved cases._ And a few of the NYPD's as well. She picked up a brush, fighting through the flare of pain in her wrist that reminded her of reality. The bandages were thick and cumbersome, but the doctors had all assured her that no long-term harm had been done in her foolish escape attempt.

She had never painted her daughter. She had painted _for_ her - most of the artwork in Kayden Fuller's home was her reproductions - but she had never painted her daughter's picture. Did that make her a bad mother? She had never painted _anyone_ , not until recently. Not until she had been truly outsmarted.

Her brush dipped idly into a rich brown paint as the words from Kayden's home replayed in her mind. _Would you be surprised to learn you've been on my mind, Joan Watson?_ Because she had. The sketch of this painting had been finished after that day, charcoal smudges and thin lines, a rough idea of what was to come.

Jamie Moriarty began to paint. Realistic, as always, the colours running over each other as she began to draw the figures. Blonde hair and black mixing together on a pale sheet; sunlight coming through the window to turn the room a hazy gold. She painted the brownstone from memory, adding in little details where she imagined them to be. Of course Joan would have a glass of water on her nightstand, and probably a photograph.

What she added were two guns, each a delicate lady's pistol, each lying carelessly on the floor atop a small pile of clothes. A gesture of peace by the two women lying tangled in the bed.

The very last thing she drew was Joan's face. The women was hard to portray... _complicated_. A mix of strength and softness, neither drawing people in nor pushing the away. Someone she had overlooked the first time, assuming her to be just another sad soul looking desperately for validation. That was the first surprise.

 _One of many._ Carefully she etched in the eyes, wide open and seeing, and the mouth slowly curling into a smile. In the painting her own eyes were closed, mouth open either in quiet word or sound of rapture, one hand curled tightly into Joan's dark hair.

 

\- - - - - - - - - -

 

"What.... what is it?" Joan asked, looking the canvas up and down.

"It appears to be a portrait of the two of you naked," Sherlock informed her, helpful as ever.

She had opened the door that morning to see it standing on the step in all of its uncovered glory. "God knows who saw it before we took it inside," she said, giving the painting another dirty look. She had been glaring at it all morning. "That is not what I look like naked!"

"Nor Moriarty," Sherlock assured her, walking around to inspect the back. "I assure you she has taken several liberties. Ah."

"What is it now?" Of course there would be something worse on the back.

She was wrong. "There appears to be a note," Sherlock said, and she hurried over.

Simple black letters spelled out the words:

_Was I too subtle for you, Joan? You're welcome to keep the other one, too. You know where to find me.  
\- M_

"Well, that's that," Sherlock gave the painting a once over, as if he was eyeballing the size, then picked in up.

"Sherlock? Where are you-" She followed him through the house. "You are not hanging that in the living room!"

He wasn't listening.

"Sherlock!" She chased after him. "Sherlock!"


End file.
